


if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones

by ezekiels



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezekiels/pseuds/ezekiels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Allison and Stiles get into a car accident one stormy night while driving away from a rival pack, both of their lives are changed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones

**Author's Note:**

> For Shelby. Sorry this took so long for me to finish.

Stiles is shouting at Allison and she's trying her best to school her expression, to floor her heeled foot on the gas like some sort of unaffected and courageous huntress. Inside, her heart is pounding. She's shaking and there is blood pooling on her seat, closest to the door, out of Stiles' sight. He hasn't realized she's hurt yet. Not a bullet wound, not a series of jagged claw marks, but a bite.

 

A werewolf bite.

 

She’s trying with all her might not to think about it.

 

That's when it happens. One moment, they’re barrelling down an empty road through torrential rain in the middle of the night and the next... There's an explosion. She's certain of that. There's flames and a loud noise and Stiles is screaming, voice breaking with its pitch. She tries to drive through it but the smoke and the flames put an end to her efforts. There's another loud noise, on the right, near the back of the car, and then they're upside down.

 

Glass is flying. Metal is screeching against the asphalt. The sound gives way to dirt and the car tips, landing hard on its side, dangling her by her seatbelt while Stiles lies limp against the car door.

 

Her ears are ringing and her head is fuzzy but her vision is as clear as day. She can see Stiles, his seatbelt the only thing saving him from face palming completely in the muddied earth her car’s absently sinking into. And there’s glass, bloody and large, embedded in his stomach. It looks like a piece of the windshield.

 

Numbly, distantly, she knows that’s a bad thing. She reaches an arm out to him. She barely notices that she can’t feel the arm or that there’s a bone protruding from the skin. She just needs to make sure he’s okay. She can’t tell if he’s breathing. “Stiles…”

 

A shadow falls over her and she looks up, the darkness swallowing her whole.

 

***

 

Stiles isn’t a hundred percent sure but he’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s dying. Pain like this has to be death, doesn’t it?

 

Besides the pain, he can’t really feel his body all that much so he stays still. He waits for the big shiny light, the kind of light you get for a split second when you throw open the curtains in the morning, only with a little bit of a neon sign thrown in for good measure.

 

Any second now, he’ll see his mom and at her side would be Fido, that stupid childhood dog of his. Maybe even that hamster Scott gave him that one time will be there. Not that he wants to see that ugly little rat but, “Go big or go home,” as they say. Cover all your bases.

 

But time passes, he thinks, and still there’s no white light. There’s no mom, no Fido, no ratty little hamster. There’s just him, him and his pain and that horrible cold feeling settling over him.

 

Oh, and there’s that noise. He almost doesn’t notice it at first. Growling and something that sounds like tearing flesh. The car horn blaring and the popping sound beaten metal gets as it settles.

 

The more he listens, the more he comes back to himself. He catches the scent of blood and fuel and earth. After that comes the metallic taste in his mouth, then the sensation of lying on his side against a car door, raining striking down on him like bullets. And above him, he’s certain it’s above him, the sound of growling and tearing flesh keep going.

 

Above him…

_Allison._

 

Panic hits him and hits him hard. He tries to turn but pain tears through him. There’s something in his gut but that pain is nothing compared to the pain in one of his shoulders. And that pain? It doesn’t even rank in comparison with the pain in one of his legs.

 

Through the pain, his original panic swims through his mind.

 

Where is Allison?

 

The growling shifts above and there’s a loud crashing noise that jolts the car. Only now do the airbags deploy.

 

The force knocks him unconscious but not before he hears a triumphant howl above him.

 

***

 

Allison wakes tucked into Scott’s bed like a child. The blankets brush her chin and it’s so comfortable that she doesn’t question being in his bed at all. She turns onto her side and licks her dry lips.

 

Blood.

 

She sits bolt upright in bed, the blankets falling away to reveal that she’s covered in blood. She stares down at herself in horror and feels something rushing towards her.

 

It’s her memory and the force of which it comes back to her knocks the air from her lungs.

 

Stiles… He’d gotten a call from Cora. She’d heard whispers about a rival pack coming back to Beacon Hills and she hadn’t wanted to bother Scott with what was potentially gossip. Stiles had called Allison and she’d come.

 

Cora had been right.

 

Hands shaking, Allison looks down at the blood covering her body. She can barely remember where it all came from, blow for blow. But she can remember flashes. She can remember killing them. All six of them.

 

With claws and fangs.

 

Her minds retaliates against the memory. It makes no senses. People who get bitten, they don’t take to the bite that fast, if they take to it at all. Between getting bitten and the crash, there’d been maybe thirty minutes.

 

She couldn’t have possibly…

 

Her memory and the blood covering her tells her a different story.

 

She swallows her disgust thickly and fists her shaking hand. She is not going to be shaken by this. She’s not that kind of hunter. She refuses to be.

 

She’s going to be the kind of hunter she and Deaton have spoken about together in whispers.

 

Slipping out from under the covers, she sits up on the side of Scott’s bed. She checks herself for injures and finds none. She’s not surprised but she scowls to herself when she realizes the whole check had been pointless.

 

She’s a werewolf now. Werewolves heal.

 

She stands with a straight back and a determined gaze.

 

Her legs give out from under her.

 

She catches herself on Scott’s bedside table, causing the battered old lamp sitting on it to topple off with a loud crash. She flushes with embarrassment and annoyance. Just because she’s a werewolf now, that doesn’t make her invincible. All this time of knowing Scott, she should have known that.

 

The door flies open and Scott rushes into the room, Isaac, Melissa, and Deaton at his back. He drops onto his knees beside her and catches her eyes. “Are you alright?”

 

She opens her mouth to tell him she’s fine, that she can take care of herself. Instead she asks, “Where’s Stiles?”

 

The words reach her ears and then fill her cheeks with an angry heat. She’d almost forgotten him. How could she have been so selfish? She’s fine. She’s a werewolf. She can heal.

 

Stiles had had shards of glass in his stomach.

 

Scott helps her to her feet and sits her back on his bed. “He’s in the hospital,” he says and takes the blanket that Isaac holds out to him. He puts it around Allison’s shoulders and steps aside to give Deaton room to have a look at her.

 

She endures the check, mostly because knowing Stiles is alive has drained her. She feels empty but content.

 

Deaton tucks his pen torch into his breast pocket and smiles. “You’re going to be alright,” he says and there is something so purely reassuring about him in that moment that she smiles back at him through her emptiness.

 

He turns to the others and relates the news that she’s fine to them. Scott is so relieved that he sits down hard. If not for the chair behind him, he would have made a fool of himself. Isaac practically falls back against the wall, looking as if the weight of the world has finally been taken from his shoulders. Melissa lets out a small relieved sigh from the doorway and Ethan, who has joined them, places a hand on her shoulder.

 

Allison smiles numbly around at them and might have stayed that way for a very long time if Lydia didn’t barrel into the room at that exact moment. Her hair is only half-brushed and her make-up only half-applied. Her clothes are askew and don’t match.

 

Scott stands abruptly but no one besides Allison and Deaton seem to notice.

 

Lydia stops at the foot of the bed, stares at Allison and breathes hard. No one says anything. They just watch her, like she’s a lioness and they’re her prey.

 

“Why…” Lydia breaths, anger in her voice, “…did nobody think to _call_ me?” She turns her anger on everyone then. “I had to get a call from Cora to know that something was wrong. I’ve been to the hospital and I’ve been calling you-” She shoots Allison a glare “-more times than I can count. Why didn’t you call me?”

 

Scott oddly puts his hands on Lydia’s shoulders. “We should probably talk outside.”

 

Lydia shrugs off Scott’s hands and glares at him. “I’m talking to Allison.” She looks pointedly back at Allison, waiting.

 

Allison opens her mouth, not really sure what she’s going to say. The words that come out are, “Is Stiles alright?”

 

Lydia gapes at her. “Who cares about Stiles?” she shouts. “You’re the one covered in blood…” She trails off, seemingly only just realizing the state her best friend is in. She leans back and whispers to Scott, “Why is she covered in blood?”

 

Scott’s hands raise as if he’s going to pu them on Lydia’s shoulders again. He fists them. Allison hears his heartbeat catch in his chest. “We should talk outside.”

 

This time, Lydia allows herself to be led out of Scott’s room, looking back at Allison with growing worry as she does. Melissa tells Deaton she’s going to go call Chris and, closing the door, Ethan follows her so that Scott and Lydia can talk in private.

 

In the end, only Isaac and Deaton are left in the room with her. She barely notices them. She’s too busy staring at the closed door in shock as she listens to Lydia break down into tears.

 

Downstairs, an egg timer goes off and Ethan runs to save his cookies.

 

***

 

Stiles wakes up in hospital, alone and confused and heavy with drugs, one thought whirling through his mind.

_Allison. Where is Allison?_

 

Confused and heavy as he is, he begins to panic. He reaches his hands out and knocks a wheeled table beside the bed, bruising himself. He tries to move more but it hurts. It really, really hurts and his eyes are filling with tears while his chest…

 

He gasps for air but it won’t come. The bright blinding light all around him is stealing it from him and he can’t breathe.

 

A hand presses him back down onto the bed and he sees the flash of a needle.

 

The panic fades, along with everything else. He relaxes back into the bed and it’s stiff and uncomfortable beneath him. He doesn’t mind.

 

A hand touches his forehead then, large and warm and loving. It brushes back and settles on the top of his head and he knows without looking who the hand belongs to.

 

His dad’s lips touch his forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” His voice shakes as he speaks.

 

Dizzily, Stiles remembers a hospital room a little smaller than this. A chair too big for him and his mom’s hand. She’d had big hands, or big for a little kid like him.

 

She was getting better. And then she just wasn’t.

 

There had been styrofoam cups on the floor and bad coffee pooling on bad lino.

 

Stiles drifts off to sleep, remembering his mom’s hands.

 

***

 

Allison showers in Melissa’s bathroom and watches blood swirl down the drain. She picks small flecks of glass from Melissa’s shower floor and drain as best she can and gets distracted watching the cuts on her fingers heal before her eyes.

 

She forces herself to stop and to get out of the shower and get dressed. Melissa’s clothes are big on her, but in a nice way. Like her own mom’s hand-me-down clothes that she wore one time when they painted a room together. Looking in the mirror, she sees her short hair sticking to her neck.

 

She looks so normal.

 

Leaning towards the mirror, she tries to get a closer look at herself. There has to be some tell, doesn’t there? Something that’s different from the way she looked before.

 

She stares and stares and stares until she starts to get sick of her own face. She fists her hands in frustration and grinds her teeth.

 

That’s when she sees it, a flash of gold across her eyes. She leans sharply towards the mirror and bumps her nose against the glass.

 

“Ow,” she mumbles, rubbing her nose.

 

She catches the sight of her reflection in the mirror and stares. She looks adorably and frightfully ordinary. Now that the blood is gone, what she is now can’t be seen.

 

It takes her a long time to pry herself away from the mirror but eventually she does, putting the towel in washing basket by the sink and leaving her ruined clothes where she’s dropped them. When she steps into Melissa’s room, she finds her dad sitting on Melissa’s bed. His head is in his hands. He does not seem to notice her arrival.

 

Part of her is terrified but the other more sensible part tells her that she’s worrying about nothing. He won’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. Would he?

 

She straightens and hopes she'll sound as normal as she looks. “Hi, dad.”

 

He looks up and stares at her for the longest of moments. Then he’s on his feet, crossing the room. She tenses instinctively, part of her expecting him to kill her. To run her through with an unseen blade or pull out the gun that’s always tucked into the back of his jeans and shoot her point blank. Instead, he takes her in his arms and holds her tightly against him.

 

“My little girl,” he whispers through his tears into her hair.

 

On any other day, she would have playfully shoved at him and said that she wasn’t his little girl anymore. But right now, she needs this.

 

***

 

The next time Stiles wakes, he doesn’t start having a panic attack and that’s mostly to do with the hand holding his and the familiar head of brunette hair propped up on a tired arm. Allison. Alive and eyes closed with not a scratch on her.

 

He lets out a breath, as if he’s been holding it ever since the car flipped.

 

The corner of Allison’s lips quirks up. “You bruised yourself,” she says and presses a thumb to his wrist. Pain shoots up his arm and he almost jumps out of bed. _Almost_. Everything else hurts too much for him to even sit.

 

“In case you’ve forgotten, I was in a car accident,” he tells her and his words sound as dry as his mouth feels. He only absently notices it, much too busy fumbling for the control to the bed with his free hand. No way in hell is he going to talk to Allison with an embarrassing hospital bed double chin.

 

Allison presses her thumb against the bruise on his wrist again. “No, no. The nurses tell me this is all you.”

 

Shooting her a glare, Stiles holds the bed’s control in front of him and presses the button to adjust the bed as if it makes some sort of point. As he raises slowly into a sitting position, she lifts her head from her arm and smiles at him.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says in a soft voice.

 

The sentiment is nice but strange. They’ve always been close but not that close. Close enough to care about the other’s safety but never close enough to voice it. It’s never really been their thing. It’s kind of nice.

 

She looks down at their hands, staring at them like they’re the most interesting things in not only the planet but the whole galaxy.

 

Stiles sighs dramatically. “Okay, out with it. How many limbs did I lose?”

 

It’s meant to be a joke. He’s even smiles a little bit.

 

But Allison is not smiling.

 

***

 

All Allison remembers from the crash is the glass shards in Stiles’ stomach. She never saw the mess of the front passenger side and the mangled mess of his lower left leg.

 

She doesn’t remember pulling Stiles from the wreck or running away in fever terror at the sight of flashing ambulance lights in the distances. She doesn’t remember Scott, Isaac, and the twins finding her on their monthly full moon run through the woods together. She doesn’t remember breaking Aiden’s arm.

 

What she does remember is Scott’s voice. Him shouting to the others to stop attacking her. Him saying softly to her that everything was going to be alright. Her fever-self had believed him and she’d allowed herself to go with them.

 

Scott just has that kind of effect on people.

 

So when Stiles pulls back the blankets and reveals a stump that ends just below his knee, it’s Scott who calms Stiles down from his panic. It’s Scott who stops him from screaming, “Make them put it back!” Eventually, after a long time, it is Scott’s soothing voice and warm arms that makes Stiles’ heart-wrenching sobs fade.

 

Through the whole thing, Allison does not move. She sits frozen, tears falling silently down her cheeks. Even if she knew the right thing to say, she isn’t sure whether she had enough breath to say it.

 

As Stiles settles down enough for Scott to gently pull away from him, she discovers she can move. She stands, intending to go out to where Lydia’s waiting for her in the waiting room. She doesn’t want to cry, truly cry, in front of Stiles. He’s been through enough.

 

Stiles’ hand stops her. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick. He tries to smile. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything. Just a bit of a shock, you know?” His voice breaks.

 

It takes every ounce of strength left in Allison not to break too.

 

Scott offers her a smile out of the corner of her eye and the effect it has on her does not feel completely _human_. Is this the kind of devotion a True Alpha projects onto his followers? No wonder Isaac and the twins rarely leave his side. Part of it, though, and it felt like a bigger part, is human. Completely and utterly human.

 

He turns the smile on Stiles, shifting back slightly.

 

The hospital bed jolts suddenly. Stiles begins to descend.

 

There’s a panic of shouting and then laughter as they all realize Scott is sitting on the controls. In the confusion, he doesn’t realize and Allison has to yank it out from under him, sending him toppling off the bed with a cry. She leaps to her feet, control in hand, and calls across the bed to see if he’s alright. She’s laughing far too hard to actually sound concerned.

 

They laugh for nearly five minutes and when the last of it begins to fade, Stiles still looks awful but he doesn’t look as bad. His heart beats at a steady and content rhythm and it sounds like music to her new strange ears.

 

***

 

Stiles isn’t alright and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it makes him cry and he is sick of crying. It’s frustrating and it’s unnecessary. After all, it’s just half a leg. They have stuff to deal with that: wheelchairs and crutches and prosthetic legs. He mightn’t like the latter two but the former is actually pretty cool.

 

That’s only if he doesn’t think about it too much, of course, and everyone keeps wanting him to think about it. His doctors, his dad, Scott. They all want him to get up and about again. Like the ultimate goal is suddenly to return to how things used to be.

 

It’s as if they’re acknowledging what’s happened while pretending it actually didn’t happen.

 

It makes his head spin.

 

“This one’s kind of cool,” Scott says, turning Stiles’ laptop around to show him yet another type of prosthetic limb.

 

Stiles looks away before he can see it. He’s not interested in having one. He doesn’t want one. “Can’t I just have a wheelchair?” he mumbles. “I like wheelchairs.”

 

His dad leans forward from where he’s sitting with a cup of bad coffee and pats his arm. “Don’t give up, son.”

 

They all keep doing that! As if Stiles with half a leg missing isn’t good enough for them. As if he has to get some fake stand in so he’s “whole” again.

 

He’s about to say just that, frustrated as he is with both of them after nearly six days of this, when there’s a tentative knock on the door. Stiles glances over and it’s hard not to at least half-smile at the sight of Allison standing there, yet another stuffed animal from the gift shop tucked under her arm as she brushes some hair behind her ear.

 

She gives him a small smile. “Hey.”

 

“Right back at you,” he says, peering at the stuffed animal under her arm. It’s a small very cute pink giraffe. “I am going to have an army of stuffed animals by the time I leave here. The world shall soon be mine.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him and crosses the room to add the pink giraffe to the small platoon of stuffed animals she’s already bought him. She buys one every day, sometimes twice if she comes in the morning and then later that day. It’s a guilt thing, he thinks, since she was driving and all. He’s tried telling her she doesn’t have to but every time she comes back, there’s yet another brilliantly coloured stuffed animal to add to his collection.

 

“Want to get out of here?” she asks.

 

Stiles sits up in bed and he knows he sounds desperate when he says, “Yes.”

 

Scott laughs and his dad smiles but neither stop Allison as she helps him into a wheelchair. Stiles calls goodbye over his shoulder as Allison pushes him out the door.

 

They take the usual route. Through the hospital, down the ramp, down the street, and to this little ratty park no one besides hospital patients and their families visit. The sun beats down on them but there’s a gentle breeze and a nice little bench shaded beneath a tree big enough to also allow his wheelchair to be parked alongside and stay in the shade too.

 

Stiles draws in a deep breath of fresh air and looks around at the grass, at the trees, at the old man across the park going for a walk with his grandchildren, pulling his wheeled-IV along with him.

 

As he looks at them, he begins to realize something really horrifying. “Oh my god. I’m turning into an old man. I hate fresh air! What’s wrong with me?”

 

Allison laughs and makes no comment. “So, looking forward to heading home in two days?”

 

“Have you ever had to lie down on a hospital bed for six days? Hell yeah, I’m looking forward to my own bed!”

 

She smiles at him with the kind of smile that’s become hers since the crash. At first, she’s completely invested in smiling and her eyes are focused. Then that focus fades and she seems miles away. Sometimes she even stops smiling, like now, and looks away to stares at something in the distance that Stiles sure as heck can’t see. She seems to see it though.

 

“You okay?” he asks.

 

She doesn’t seem to hear.

 

He doesn’t push her. As someone being pushed near constantly, he has no intention of doing the same thing to Allison. Whatever’s going on with her, he’s going to let her deal with it. He doubts it’s escaped anyone else’s notice so they must be bugging her as much as they’re bugging him.

 

She eventually comes back to him.

 

“Hmm?” she asks, as if he only just asked her if she’s okay.

 

He covers the question by asking the first thing that comes to his mind. “Did Lydia do your hair? It looks nice.” He blushes bright red after he says it, having no idea where it came from. He’s certain he wasn’t even looking at her hair let alone thinking about it.

 

“Cora, actually.”

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Cora’s back?”

 

“Her and Derek got in this morning,” she says, watching him.

 

Stiles isn’t exactly sure how to react. Sure, Cora’s his ex but she’s also his friend. They talk all the time on the phone, even though she’s traveling the world in an attempt to reconnect with her brother Derek now days. Or, at least, that’s the excuse everyone but Stiles, Lydia, and Deaton have gotten. In actual fact, she’s collecting a few ingredients for some big time druid magic. The fact that she abandoned it to come back to see him is a little overwhelming but the old feelings barely stir.

 

“Send you in ahead for some recon?” he teases Allison.

 

She laughs. “No! She’s sleeping. She flew all the way from Pakistan, Stiles. With Derek.”

 

Stiles snorts a laugh at the image of Derek panicking in his seat. According to Cora, the big bad wolf’s afraid of flying.  “And how is our beloved sourwolf? Sour as ever?”

 

“I don’t know. He was asleep, we didn’t really talk.  Cora had to carry him in from the taxi.”

 

He laughs so hard he almost falls out of his wheelchair. “Please, please, please tell me you took pictures. I need them framed. And published. Online.”

 

Allison gives him a shove and he almost does topple out of his wheelchair then. So much so that the wheelchair tips over and crashes down onto the dry grass. He stops laughing in shock then bursts out laughing.

 

Allison doesn’t seem to find it funny at all. “Stiles! Oh god. Are you okay?” She pulls the wheelchair up from the ground, bracing him in the chair with her free hand. She doesn’t even crack a smile. Wheelchair upright, she comes around to kneel in front of him nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

 

Stiles is still laughing. “When did you get so strong?”

 

She looks away and doesn’t say anything. Laughing as hard as he is, by the time he manages to stop, she’s back to her old self. He doesn’t have the heart to ask her what’s wrong.

 

***

 

Cora visits Stiles with Lydia and Allison is left with the very awkward job of watching Derek while they’re gone. And it is awkward. Incredibly so. He won’t stop staring at her and she lasts only an hour before she can’t bite her tongue anymore.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re a werewolf,” he says.

 

Those words, coming from his mouth, infuriate her. It’s partly because he’s Derek Hale and she’s never much liked him. But mostly? It’s that he sounds surprised that she’s still sitting in front of him. It makes her want to rip out his tongue.

 

“You can’t tell Stiles,” she says.

 

Derek raises an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know?”

 

“No, he doesn’t and right now I like it that way.”

 

“You sound like Scott.”

 

She glares at him and Derek has the good sense to lean away. “That’s not how it was like and that’s not how it is now. I am going to tell him, just not now. He’s the only person who still treats me like he used to.”

 

“He’ll find out eventually.”

 

“Weren’t you listening? He is going to find out, when I tell him.’

 

Derek sighs and that makes her even angrier.

 

“I killed six werewolves the night I was bitten, Derek. Don’t act like an asshole and tempt me into repeat that now on you. And don’t think I won’t know it was you if Stiles suddenly finds out. I’m getting rather good at reading heartbeats and I know everyone else truly meant it went they promised they wouldn’t tell.” She tilts her head, rather liking the way Derek’s gone very still. “Besides, I like Cora. It would be a shame to have a falling out because of you.”

 

Derek is silent for a long time.

 

It’s incredibly satisfying.

 

When he does at last speak, it’s to say, “I won’t say anything. I never planned to.” His heartbeat is a little fast but steady, afraid of her but truthful.

 

She turns her attention back to the book she was reading before Derek’s staring had interrupted her. “Good.”

 

They sit in silence, her reading and Derek holding rigidly still as if he expects her to suddenly break his neck on a whim. And that’s the end of it.

 

***

 

Deaton opens the front door when Stiles’ dad drives him home from the hospital eight days after he woke up there. He finds it a little weird but doesn’t say anything. He’s much more interested in making it to the nearest seat. The walk on crutches to the front door has nearly killed him.

 

He practically throws the crutches across the room when he finally reaches the couch.

 

“You’ll get used to them,” his dad says reassuringly.

 

Stiles grinds his teeth and says nothing. The topic is an old one and they’re both as stubborn as the other. After braving the walk to the couch, he isn’t interesting in arguing. Sleeping and doing nothing for a thousand years, yes. Arguing with his dad, not so much.

 

“How are you feeling, Stiles?” Deaton asks.

 

“Fine,” Stiles says and eyes Deaton from where he’s sitting on the couch. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

 

Deaton glances at his dad and they seemed to have some sort of Jedi mind conversation. Considering the amount of times Scott and him have done something similar, he lets the strangeness of it slide.

 

“Just helping out,” Deaton says, light and carefree, as if a second ago he wasn’t having a Jedi mind conversation with his dad in front of him. He turns his attention back to Stiles’ dad again, putting a hand on his shoulder and saying something to him so quietly that Stiles can’t hear it.

 

His dad pats Deaton’s hand and nods.

 

Deaton heads silently towards the front door.

 

“Tell Scott I say hi!” Stiles calls after him.

 

Deaton waves absently over his shoulder and disappears out the front door.

 

Stiles stares after him for a moment then sits back. “He’s weird.”

 

His dad glares at him but at the same time he’s bright red. Stiles’ doesn’t really understand it but he’s much more interested in the smell that’s reached his nose at last. On the table behind his dad, he spots a big brown paper bag with Deaton’s name scrawled near indecipherably on the front.

 

“Is that a burger?” He sniffs intently and tries not to drool. “And curly fries?” After eight days of hospital food, it smells like heaven.

 

His dad rolls his eyes and tosses him the bag like it’s an ordinary day. “You have a one tracked mind.”

 

Stiles grins.

 

Then his dad stops, his smile faltering, and he’s staring at Stiles as if throwing the bag at him is a crime against humanity. “Are you… Did I…”

 

Stiles sighs. “I’m fine, dad. Jeez, it’s just a paper bag.”

 

His dad gives a nervous smile but it’s clear he’s still worried. His guilt is written all over his face.

 

Stiles eats his frustration. The burger and fries numb it somewhat, but only slightly.

 

***

 

Allison never hated school before but she hates it now. She can hear others students whispering about her and is hyperaware of all the little ticks they have, like tapping their pens against their desks. It sets her claws on edge.

 

She spends more time trying not to tear through the school, sacrificing every pen and pencil for her peace of mind, that she actually doesn’t learn much of anything.

 

It gets worse when Stiles comes back to school. It’s nothing to do with him, personally, but with everyone else. She can hear each and every single one of their comments. About how Stiles is, “More of a freak that he used to be.”

 

And then there’s the looks she gets, like she personally took out a hacksaw and chopped Stiles’ leg off herself.

 

At first, she spends a lot of time running out on Lydia and Stiles or class to hide in whichever supplies closet is closest until she calms down. Which really meant until Scott or Isaac or the twins came and guided her through the anger. As the weeks past, she becomes acutely aware of each of their heartbeats and the emotions they give off by the sound.

 

It’s wonderfully satisfying.

 

It doesn’t make it any easier.

 

The day before the full moon, with her every sense tensed with what is about to come, sitting in the library during her free period seems like it should be a reprieve. The place is almost empty except for her, Stiles, Danny, and a few others.

 

She should have known better than to lower her guard.

 

It’s just a background hum of conversation at first. She tries to push it away, focusing on the textbook in front of her, but the hum only grows louder and more distinct. She thinks, at first, it’s because her wolf hearing is focusing. Then she hears the approaching footsteps.

 

When the two freshmen stop and lean against a near stack, they don’t even bother to whisper. They look right at her and speak loud enough for her, Stiles, Danny, and anyone else in the near facility to hear.

 

“I hear she was drunk,” the freckled freshman says.

 

The other one snorts. “Well, I hear she flipped the car on purpose. Her dad’s a freak, you know. Probably got it from him.”

 

“Or her aunt.”

 

“Or her mom.”

 

They laugh as if they said something funny.

 

Allison fists her hands on her lap. Her claws dig into her palms and drops of blood drip onto her jeans. She tries to focus on the pain, tries to force their words away.

 

“She’s not as much of a freak as that Stilinski kid though.”

 

She grinds her teeth, her extending canines rubbing against the inside of her mouth. She lifts her hands from her lap and tries to focus on the text book in front of her, fisting her hands around the book and tilting it to shadow her claws. She gets the feeling she’s not fooling anyone.

 

“Yeah, I can’t believe they let him back in here.”

 

“Their kind shouldn’t be allowed to come to school.”

 

She looks up at them sharply and the two freshmen jump. They don’t seem particularly scared at first but they quickly see sense. They press themselves back against the sacks and stare at the murderous look in her eyes.

 

Behind her, she hears the legs of Danny’s chair scrap against the floor as he tries to hurry towards her in time.

 

Not that he can do anything. He’s only human.

 

Eyes locked hungrily on the two terrified freeman, she braces her legs to stand. She is going to enjoy this.

 

Stiles’ grabs her by the hand and his touch is like a jolt of common sense. It threads itself through her veins and tethers her to morality. She stares at the freshmen, horrible as they are, and sees their terror.

 

“I suggest you go,” Danny says, standing at the end of Allison and Stiles’ table. “Before I show you just how dangerous a trumpet player can be.”

 

The freshmen hurry away.

 

It takes her a few careful breaths before she’s calm enough to turn to Danny and Stiles. Danny looks sympathetic and Stiles looks caught somewhere between worry and awe.

 

“You looked like you were going to murder them,” Stiles says. “It was awesome.”

 

Danny shoots Stiles a glare and then looks over at Allison, silently asking if she wants him to stay. She shakes her head slightly and he goes back to his own table. She can feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye though. Under the table, she sees him pull out his phone and text Ethan.

 

She signs inwardly, frustrated with herself. She should’ve had herself under control by now.

 

Stiles gives her hand a squeeze and she jumps a little. She hadn’t realized that he’s still holding her hand. “You okay?”

 

She turns her attention back to her book. “I’m fine.”

 

His hand doesn’t leave hers. She tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the words in front of her, but his touch is like a brand. She can feel his heartbeat against her skin. She could no sooner ignore a wolfsbane bullet to the heart.

 

“I don’t mind being called a freak,” he says. “Especially by losers like them. Seriously, you don’t need to get angry just because of me.”

 

“You’re my friend, Stiles,” she says. “Of course I’m going to get angry.”

 

She feels him stare at her and glances up on him. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” he says, at last taking his hand off hers. “It’s just… You’ve never called me your friend before. Like, directly. To my face. With personal pronouns and stuff.”

 

She raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“It’s nice,” Stiles mumbles, turning back to the dragon that he’s been doodling all free period.

 

She smiles at him as he defines the dragon’s teeth, calm now. She turns back to her text book. The full moon that night feels like years away.

 

***

 

Allison is acting weird. Not just ordinary weird but real weird. The kind of weird that people call their friends out on because it’s really beginning to worry them.

 

Stiles decides Google is probably a safer first step.

 

He’s half way through a web page on PTSD when his dad stops by his door.  He’s dressed up a little but still casual, which Stiles gets is more for his benefit because Stiles knows for a fact that his dad owns better clothes than those. He’s much too distracted by what he’s reading and worrying about Allison to tell his dad that, yes, he knows that he and Deaton are dating. Probably best to let them stew anyway. He isn’t up to participating in an awkward Meet the Boyfriend dinner just yet.

 

“You need to get out more, Stiles,” his dad says, looking at him sadly.

 

“We’ve been over this, dad. I don’t like the outside world. It has fresh air and sunlight.” Stiles fake shivers and turns his attention back to the article in front of him.

 

His dad sighs and tosses something onto Stiles bed. Absently, Stiles glances over –and has to do a disbelieving double-take. It’s the uniform for one of Beacon Hills fair vendors, easily the most embarrassing of jobs that for some reason lasts more than a month. Stiles would know. He helped Scott survive it last year.

 

He turns to his dad. “You’re going to work at the fair? We’re not that tight with money, are we?”

 

“It’s yours,” his dad says. “You start working there tonight.”

 

Stiles stares at him. He has to have heard wrong.

 

Seeing his expression, his dad sighs. “Look, Stiles, I really didn’t want to do this but ever since the accident you’re given up on everything.”

 

“I have no-”

 

“You don’t go outside unless it’s for school. You’ve quit lacrosse.”

 

“I bet my grades are better.”

 

His dad sighs again.

 

Stiles turns pointedly back to his computer. “I’m not going.”

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

“No, I’m-”

 

“What am I supposed to do then, Stiles?” And there’s something in his dad’s voice that makes him stop. Something pained and desperate that sends a jolt of guilt through him sharper than a live wire. “I can’t just let you sit here and wither away. I won’t. You are getting out of that chair and putting on that uniform and you are going to do this job. Am I understood?”

 

Stiles stays very still and says nothing. Not because he doesn’t have something to say but because he’s afraid he’ll actually start crying if he does. He can feel the tears in his eyes, frustrated and angry and guilty.

 

“I expect you to be waiting in the car for me in twenty minutes.” With that said, his dad leaves, slamming the door behind him.

 

Stiles spends the next fifteen minutes rubbing angrily at the tears spilling down his cheeks and telling himself he isn’t going. His dad doesn’t own him and he doesn’t owe his dad anything. Not a thing.

 

But all he keeps thinking of is his mom now. The way she never left the house when she came home from the hospital that first time. She withered away in the darkness under their attempts at understanding. After all, she seemed fine.

 

He can’t really be turning into his mom.

 

His dad can’t really think that will happen to him too.

 

Standing, he braces himself with one crutch and crosses to his bed. He angrily pulls each item of the uniform on, from the bright yellow shirt to the ugly black pants. He puts the cap on backwards, shoves his foot into a sneaker, and grabs the other crutch.

 

His dad is waiting for him in the car even though he’s half an hour late.

 

***

 

Allison is standing in the cold dark woods, the moonlight beating down on her, and she’s starting to get bored.

 

Because nothing is happening.

 

Beyond the usual, there’s not difference between how she feels now and how she felt a week ago. There’s still a pull but nowhere near as much of a pull as Scott and the others have described.

 

Which makes the fact that the whole pack and Lydia are out here supporting her so much more awkward.

 

Lydia, sitting in the front seat of her car, drifts off to sleep waiting. Ethan tries to subtly text Danny and Isaac and Aiden start playing rock, paper, scissors. Only Scott gives her his whole attention, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

 

She doesn’t ask why it’s taking so long. She’s not really paying attention. Having expected it to be boring, she’d reached out her senses as soon as she’d climbed out of the car. She’d overheard Stiles’ argument with his dad and has been listening to Stiles suffer under the cruel instruction of the fair director all night.

 

Blinking awake, Lydia stretches in her seat. Scott glances over and watches as she settles back into the seat, smacking her lips and looking Allison over. She blinks hard, twice, and asks, “Why isn’t she changing?”

 

No one has an answer for that.

 

More time passes and Allison listens as Stiles steals a chair and props it up behind the stand he’s been assigned to. She hears his crutches clatter to the ground and him heave a sigh relief as he finally sits down.

 

A five year old asks if he can play the game and when Stiles asks if he has any money, the kid says no. With a sigh, Stiles digs into his pocket for his wallet and adds some of his own money into the makeshift metal box of a till. “Damn my sugar sweet heart.”

 

Lydia falls back to sleep and Scott breaks from standing vigil to shrug off his jacket and drape it over her.

 

Isaac wins with rock again and Aiden mutters to himself that he should have seen it coming.

 

Ethan smiles at something Danny texts him.

 

Eventually, Isaac and Aiden give up on waiting around and crawl into the backseat of Lydia’s car. They fall asleep there, Aiden’s head propped up on Isaac’s shoulder and Isaac’s head resting atop Aiden’s. Ethan soon joins them.

 

Scott and Allison watch each other in the silence but her mind is miles away.

 

Stiles’ dad picks him up just before midnight and drives him home. He mumbles a goodnight to his dad, who’s in a much better mood than him, and makes his way slowly up the stairs. He showers and changes, crawls into bed. Sleeps.

 

For the next five or so hours, she listens to his heartbeat and his breathing. She has nothing better to do and she’s gotten a taste for the sound of heartbeats in the past month. They’re nice and reassuring. A proof of life.

 

The sun rises and still she has not turned.

 

***

 

Allison falls asleep in English the next day. Her head lolls at first, not quite giving into sleep, and then she settles her chin on her arm. She’s gone in seconds, the windows to her left bathing her sleeping form in soft light.

 

Stiles watches her with a combination of envy and worry. With bruises from standing up on crutches for three hours straight, he hadn’t slept much last night but he’s not that tired. He tries to think of the right way he can ask her if she’s okay but first period stretches to second and the next thing he knows they’re in free period together, her asleep on the book they have to read for English.

 

Unable to stand it any longer, he prods her in the neck with the end of his pencil. She jerks away, looking a little ridiculous as she blinks blearily back to life. There’s a strand of hair sticking to her lip. He pulls it away with the end of his pencil.

 

“You okay, Argent?”

 

Allison stretches and gives give him a lazy smile that would have knocked Scott flat on his ass a year ago. It certainly has an effect on Stiles, that is for sure. His heart flutters a little but, admittedly, this isn’t the first time Allison has had that kind of effect on him. She can be incredibly cute, after all, and he’s no saint. Her feet bump his lone one under the table.

 

“I’m just tired,” Allison says, settling back down on her folded arms.

 

The whole thing is possibly the most adorable thing Stiles has ever seen and for some reason, with Allison’s shoes still pressed against his under the table, it’s really affecting him. There are butterflies in his stomach doing aerial acrobatics and a kangaroo hopping a marathon on his heart. He’s blushing.

 

He draws his foot away from hers and tucks it under his chair.

 

Get a grip, he orders himself. For Christ sake, Stilinski, she’s Allison Argent!

 

Allison doesn’t seem to notice any of it. She’s much too busy falling back to sleep.

 

***

 

Lydia’s wearing Scott’s jacket and Allison can’t help but admire how good it looks on her. She holds the long ends of the sleeves and fidgets with the zip. She seems so content in doing so that she doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to the movie she, Allison, Cora and, by default, Derek are watching.

 

Which is strange, seeing as _The Notebook_ is Lydia’s favourite movie.

 

Then again, maybe Allison’s only noticing it because now that she’s caught up on sleep she’s had time to process the sound of Stiles’ heart skipping more than a few beats when her feet touched his under the table during free period last week. She’s been trying to avoid thinking about it and she’s been doing a rather stand up job. She goes to school and hangs out with Stiles and doesn’t think about it. She goes home and deals with her dad’s growing clinginess and doesn’t think about it. She goes to bed and… Well, that’s usually when she starts thinking about it.

 

Lydia abruptly lifts the remote and turns the movie off. “This is boring.”

 

Derek and Cora look like they’ve been thrown a floatation device after hours of trying to stay afloat in a freezing ocean.

 

“We could go out,” Cora suggests.

 

Derek sinks back into the couch beside her with a look of foreboding doom. Allison snorts at the sight of it and tries to hide it behind her hand. Derek glares at her and says nothing, determined to be sour about everything.

 

Allison is tempted to call him a sourwolf, then restrains herself. That’s Stiles’ word for him and she needs to stop thinking about Stiles.

 

“No…” Lydia says with a sigh of defeat. “There’s no good clubs open tonight.” She gets this calculating look all of the sudden. It’s so subtle that only Allison notices it. “Maybe we should check out the fair. I mean, it’s pretty boring but we might as well show Scott and the others our support.”

 

Allison heart jumps into her throat.

 

Scott meant Stiles.

 

Her mind rushes for excuses but her tongue gets tied. Then she gets annoyed with herself. It’s just Stiles and, besides, he’s her friend. She meant it when she told him that. So whatever that heartbeat means? It can wait until later.

 

They’re ready and out the door in five minutes, except for Cora. She gets a text as they’re stepping out the door and heads off on her own, leaving Lydia and Allison to deal with Derek.

 

They climb into Lydia’s car and head on their way, Derek scowling, Lydia suppressing a pleased smile, and Allison trying to stay calm.

 

***

 

Stiles does not like his boss but the kids are pretty cool. The little kids, at least, the ones with the parents nearby. The slightly older ones, the ones that can wander away from their parents? They are the spawn of Satan. If Aiden wasn’t watching them like a hawk with his classic I’ll-murder-you-all-in-your-sleep face, Stiles knows they would be causing him a lot of trouble.

 

Ethan and Danny stop by sometime after five, hand in hand and sharing a cone of cotton-candy between them. Danny wins Ethan a little giraffe and Stiles tries not think about his own giraffe at home on his bedside table. A pink giraffe to be precise, the one that Allison had gotten him, sitting alongside an army of its bright coloured brethren.

 

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

 

Allison has gone from six to six trillion on his like meter and it’s more than a little bit awkward. After all, she’s his best friend’s ex-girlfriend. His best friend being the adorable dork waving enthusiastically to him from his stall across and a few down from Stiles’ own.

 

Stiles waves back wildly too then goes back to feeling sorry for himself when a young couple approach Scott’s stall.

 

Anyway he thinks about it, it’s hopeless. Like, even if the bro-code did allow it, it’s not as if Allison will ever like him like that. He’s not exactly the kind of guy someone like Allison is supposed to end up with. Which sounds awful, he knows, but he’s never been known for common sense or niceties when he’s in this sort of mood.

 

If he’s honest with himself, the big crux is his leg. Sure, maybe she could like him for him, but Allison’s a hunter. All her talk about her future revolves around it and having someone close to her with half a leg won’t earn her any fierce points with the big bad’s. Maybe if he was a fierce guy with half a leg but he’s not. He accepted his lot concerning that a long time ago.

 

So him and Allison? Even if that blue moon of a possibility happens?

 

There’s no way in hell it’s gonna work.

 

That’s when he sees her through the crowd and it’s like the devil and all his buddies are kicking him in the gut. But it also makes his heart start racing so, overall, it leaves him feeling more off balance than he usually does.

 

“Mister? Hey, Mister?”

 

Stiles tears his eyes away from Allison and finds a small girl standing on the other side of his stall. There’s a track of blood running from her nose and she looks like she’s been roughed up a little. From the laughter of the spawn of Satan nearby, it doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s happened.

 

Bracing his hands on the stall table, he stands. “You alright?”

 

She sniffs and looks at her shoes. “I’m fine. It’s just…a blood nose. I was just wondering… Mister, do you have any tissues?”

 

Stiles doesn’t but the pimply guy running the stall next to him does. He steals it while the guy isn’t looking, which isn’t all that hard since he’s been asleep for the last ten minutes, and hands the box across the table to the girl.

 

“Thanks, Mister,” she mumbles, wiping the blood from her nose.

 

“That’s alright,” he says, sitting back down and leaning his crutches against the stall again. He feels he should feel good about himself, for doing that, but the girl still looks miserable. “Hey, kid? You want to play this game? It’s on me.”

 

She looks across at him, a tissue shoved up one nose. “Really?”

 

“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “I can probably get my friend over there -the one running the hoop game? I could probably get you a free game their too, if you want?”

 

The little girl looks like she’s about to cry and Stiles begins to panicking, wondering how on earth to deal with this. He should have just kept his big mouth shut. He has no idea what to do with a crying kid.

 

Allison comes to his rescue.

 

She swoops in like a trained babysitter, putting an arm around the little girl’s shoulders and handing her a cone of candy floss. The two then play the game together, Allison cheering the girl on even when she misses the targets. By the end of it all, the girl is laughing and Stiles’ is grinning like a fool.

 

When all is done, Stiles hands a bright blue kitty-cat over and Allison takes it, getting down to the girl’s eye level to give it to her. “Do you want to go play the other game now?” she asks as the little girl hugs the stuffed animal to her chest.

 

The girl nods excitedly.

 

“I’ll meet you over there,” Allison says and sends the girl on her way to Scott.

 

“Thanks,” Stiles says when the girl is gone.

 

Allison leans against his stall table and smiles across at him. “No problem.” Her smile widens into a grin. “You sort of looked like you were about to pass out. I never realized you were afraid of kids.”

 

“Crying kids,” he corrects. “And not afraid, just… I don’t know what to do with them.”

 

She seems to notice the underlying question of how she knew what to do with them and smiles. “Four years of babysitting.”

 

“Ah, a young veteran.”

 

She laughs and he starts to feel all goofy. He picks a stuffed animal off the stall, a pink giraffe, and holds it out to her. “For the service to your country, brave babysitter.”

 

She takes the giraffe with a bow.

 

Then she’s gone, called over by Scott, and Stiles is left feeling like the sun has suddenly disappeared.

 

From where he’s been watching over Stiles nearby, Aiden chuckles.

 

Stiles scowls at him and forces himself to get back to his stupid job.

 

***

 

“Well, that was incredibly awful while it lasted.”

 

Allison glances up as Stiles sits down across from her in free period. He props his crutches against the table and pulls out his usual text book and pencil.

 

“What happened?” Allison asks, worried.

 

“Oh, I got fired. This morning, over the phone.”

 

She stares at him. “But… Why?”

 

“Apparently I was being too nice to people,” he says. “Which is kind of true, I guess. I mean, we’re only supposed to go through a box of stuffed animals a week, not a day, so…” He shrugs, trying to act like he isn’t put out but she can hear his heartbeat. He was starting to like the job.

 

She gives his leg a little teasing kick under the table. “You’ll get a better job,” she says with a smile, trying to ignore the skip of his heart.

 

“Yeah, but who will take me? Not many people like hiring cripples. Makes the customers feel bad about themselves.”

 

“Don’t say that,” she growls, a little more seriously than she intends. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

 

Stiles blushes and tries to brush it off with a, “You sweet on me, Argent?”

 

She rolls her eyes to hide her own skipped heartbeat. “No, you whine too much.”

 

He snorts and a smile twitches the corner of her own lips.

 

It’s moment like this when she wonders why she doesn’t just ask him out. But she remembers as quickly as she wonders it.

 

All this time has passed and still she can’t bring herself to tell him the truth about what she is.

 

***

 

Walking in on Scott and Lydia making out in Scott’s room, on Scott’s bed, is easily the second most traumatising thing Stiles has ever seen. The first being seeing his dad and Deaton kiss rom-com style on the front porch two nights ago.

 

Stiles closes the door sharply and stands there in shock, the image of his best friend shirtless with his hands pinned above his head, Lydia on top of him in nothing more than a bra and red skirt now branded onto his memory for all time. “Well,” he says to himself. “That was unexpected.”

 

A few moments later, Scott calls for him to come in and he’s not really all that surprised that Lydia hasn’t bothered to get dressed. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed angrily over her chest. She levels a death glare at him.

 

He looks pointedly away from her black bra.

 

“So, are you two-”

 

“Dating,” Lydia says sharply. “We’re dating.”

 

“Oh, okay.” He hadn’t expected her to say dating. Not to tell a living soul or she’d gouge his eyes out, maybe, but not dating.

 

“Is something wrong, Stiles?” Scott asks, looking like he wants to grin but schooling his expression for Stiles’ sake.

 

“No! No, not really.”

 

The look in Lydia’s eyes could have levelled mountains. “So, you interrupted us for no good reason?”

 

“I mean, obviously I’m here for a reason. I didn’t just walk up those stairs using crutches for…” He gulps nervously, losing all the courage he’d spent the last four hours working up. “But you’re busy so I’ll just...” He turns and leaves.

 

Scott stops him at the head of the stairs. “Dude, what is it? Is something wrong?”

 

“It’s nothing. Go back to making out or whatever you were doing.”

 

Scott doesn’t let go of his arm. “Look, if this is about me and Lydia… I’m sorry. It sort of just happened. I know you’ve always had a thing for her but I… Dude, I really, really like her.”

 

“Scott, this isn’t about Lydia.”

 

A relieved smile spreads across Scott’s face. “Good, because I really, really like her.”

 

“Yes, I got that.”

 

“Then what’s this about?” Scott asks, sounding and looking more relaxed. He still looks concerned though, which is the sort of expression only someone like Scott can manage without looking like a complete idiot.

 

It’s also the only possible expression that could give Stiles the courage to say what he was originally planning to say.

 

“Just, you know, wanted to ask if those werewolf ears of yours have picked up any I-like-Stiles-as-more-than-a-friend vibes from Allison lately because I really, really like her. No big deal. Just normal stuff like that.”

 

Scott jaw drops. “Dude.”

 

Stiles pulls his arm away from Scott. “Thanks a lot. My confidence really needed that kick in the shins.” He starts to oddly make his way down the stairs.

 

He’s reached the bottom before Scott’s recovered enough to shout after him. “Ask her out! I bet you my college funds she’ll say yes!” But he’s laughing, which doesn’t exactly instil a lot of confidence in Stiles.

 

He heads back outside to embark on his long walk home.

 

***

 

Allison sits on one of the tables pressed against the wall, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on her knees, and watches as Deaton gives a cat stitches. Even though it makes no sense for the little creature to, they’re purring.

 

Tying the last stitch off, he sets the needle in a metal tray and says, “I take it you’re not sitting there because you greatly enjoy my company. Something on your mind?”

 

She sighs and wishes this was something she could talk to Lydia or Scott about but the idea of talking to either of them terrifies her. Lydia because she’d probably look at her as if she’s gone mad and Scott because they have history and it might be a little awkward. She’s certainly not going to her dad about it and her attempt to talk with Cora had ended abruptly when Derek returned from whatever it is he’d been doing.

 

Deaton is her last resort.

 

He picks up the cat and carefully cradles them against him chest. “Follow me,” he says and heads out the door.

 

She follows him, first to the cages where the cat is carefully lain down on a blanket and then through to Deaton’s small box of an office. She’s been in it before and it’s just as homely and comforting as she remembers. The desk is covered in photos, mostly old patients and there’s a board behind the desk pinned with reminders, a few new photos of him and Sheriff Stilinski together, and postcards from his sister Marin.

 

“France?” Allison asks when she spots a new one that wasn’t there the last time she was here.

 

Deaton says nothing but he never does. Besides the postcards he gets every so often from her, he doesn’t talk to his sister, not since she and Kali left town together after Kali suffocated Gerard in his sleep. She’s a sore subject for him, Allison can tell, and she also gets the feeling that it’s partly to protect Marin. Being an Argent means that some walls can never be broken down, even for the sake of friendship.

 

He takes a seat behind his desk and gestures for her to take her usual one across from him.

 

“What’s troubling you?”

 

“I’ve been lying to someone,” she confesses. “And it’s sort of gotten to that point where telling them is probably going to make them hate me and I really don’t want them to hate me.”

 

He smiles. “If I knew the solution to that problem, John and I would have started dating years ago.”

 

She looks down at her hands smiling. But then that smile fades.

 

“I honestly don’t know what to tell you, Allison. This is just one of the things you’re going to have to deal with on your own.” He watches her carefully. “And if they mean as much to you as I think they do then I think telling them the truth is a risk worth taking.”

 

It isn’t all together the most comforting advice she’s been given but by the time she sits down besides Stiles in English, she’s made up her mind.

 

“Hey, Stiles?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How about you and me go to the fair tonight and laugh in the face of your ex-boss? It’ll be fun. I promise.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says, his ears turning pink.

 

She crosses her fingers and hope that the coming night goes well.

 

***

 

Stiles doesn’t know what to do or what to think or what to wear. Is this thing with Allison a date or just two friends hanging out while sticking it to The Man? He throws his hands up in defeat and just pulls his red hoody on over what he’s already wearing because the hell if he knows what’s going on.

 

Besides, it’s not as if he can look cool while hobbling about on crutches anyway.

 

She picks him up at five and they drive to the fairground. It’s a little odd being in a car with her again, considering the way it ended last time, and neither of them talk much. When they pull into a park beside the fairgrounds, safe and unharmed, neither of them say a word about it but he gets the feeling she’s as relieved about making it there alive as he is.

 

The tension lessens slightly when they reach the cotton candy vendor.

 

“One, please,” Allison says, digging out her wallet.

 

Taking that as his cue to buy his own, he reaches for his own wallet.

 

“Stiles, it’s okay,” she says with a smile. “We can share.”

 

Considering every person he’s seen in the last month sharing cotton candy have been couples, he thinks it’s utterly understandable how bright red he turns.

 

The vendor hands over the cone and Allison pinches off a piece. She eats it with a sugar sweet smile and holds the cone out to him. Still blushing, he takes his own piece and eats it.

 

They start walking through the fair then, eating their shared cone of cotton candy and trying out the games. Allison insists on paying for all of it and Stiles is feeling too shy to argue.

 

They wander around for hours, until the final wisps of sunlight disappear and the stars come out. The lights of the old Ferris wheel gleam and the music of the merry-go-round doesn’t sound as terrifyingly haunting as it usually does.

 

He sees Scott once, doing his job and going big with the prizes the way he always does on the last night of the fair. As Stiles is swept away through the crowd by Allison, he sees Scott lean across the stall’s desk and give Lydia a kiss.

 

“You want to try the merry-go-round?” she asks.

 

“I’ll look like an idiot,” he says but the idea of sitting down and not bracing himself on his crutches wins him over.

 

Allison helps him up onto a blue horse and she climbs onto the pink one alongside. Sitting there, ridiculous as the merry-go-round horse beneath her looks, she looks like some mythical huntress.

 

The ride starts and Stiles focuses on not falling off or letting his crutches go.

 

He’s glad when the ride ends but it’s hard not to smile and laugh with Allison as they continue on their way. She just has this effect on him and it’s kind of annoying. After nearly two and a half hours on his feet, he’s dying to sit down.

 

Carefully and trying to be subtle about it, he tries to direct their aimless walking towards the Ferris wheel.

 

She starts talking about werewolves and hunting then, the way she does, but as they keep walking and she keeps talking, she starts to sound nervous. She rushes her words and gets flustered, tearing little lines down one of the flyers someone handed her a while back. When they join the end of the Ferris wheel queue, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

 

They reach the front of the queue and Allison sighs, turning to face him. “Stiles, I need to-”

 

“Next!”

 

They both jump, turning to find a small angry woman glaring at them. She’s holding her hand out to them and when neither of them move, she flexes her fingers impatiently. “Come on, I don’t have all night.”

 

Stiles pays the woman, the first time he’s paid for anything all night, and he and Allison climb into the Ferris wheel seat.

 

It’s a slow, boring ride but the view’s pretty brilliant. Not that he notices much of it with Allison strangling the flyer next to him and looking increasingly nervous.

 

All that said, the ride is going smoothly. It’s working, if a bit creaky, and it stays that way, right up until Stiles and Allison’s seat reaches the top.

 

There’s a loud groan and a pop. Far below, someone curses.

 

The Ferris wheel has broken down.

 

The incident doesn’t make Allison any more talkative, leaving Stiles to try and break and the ice and make some conversation. He looks around him, trying to figure out what to say, and latches onto the first thing he sees.

 

“Oh, hey, look! There’s a full moon.”

 

Allison goes deadly still. “What?” she breathes.

 

“A full moon,” Stiles repeats. “Cool, huh?”

 

Allison doesn’t seem to find it cool at all. She goes from barely caring that the Ferris wheel has broken down to full-out panicking. “I have to get down from here!” She leans over the rail, making Stiles have a brief heart attack as the seat leans with her. He clutches at the rail and his crutches for dear life. “Get me down from here!” she shouts down at the crowd below.

 

He places a hand on her shoulder, which is no easy feat when he’s both trying to save his crutches and himself. “C-Calm down, Allison.”

 

“No, you don’t understand. I have to get down from here.”

 

She tries to lift the rail in her panic and he dives at her to stop her from succeeding. His crutches slip and clatter down the Ferris wheel, making people scream below. “Allison! Allison, stop!” he shouts, prying her hands away from the rail.

 

She shoves him away, hard, and turns her eyes on him.

 

Her eyes are bright yellow.

 

Clutching at his corner of the seat, he stares at her. “You’re a werewolf?!”

 

***

 

This is not at all how Allison planned for Stiles to find out and now she’s changing, in front of him with a full moon overhead, and why did no one think to remind her that tonight was the full moon? She turns her face away from him, yanking hard on the rail but it’s playing stubborn against her werewolf strength.

 

“Stop, Allison! I’ll fall!”

 

She stops, staring at her clawed hands and the distance stretching out between her and the ground. Maybe she can survive a fall like that but Stiles wouldn’t. Not that he has much chance of surviving anyway, stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel with a three month old bitten werewolf.

 

“Stiles, I’m so sorry,” she says, unable to look at him. She can feel her canines in her mouth and her face changing. She doesn’t want to scare him. “I didn’t realize it was the full moon. I-”

 

“You knew about this _before_ now?”

 

“Yes. Stiles, I-”

 

“I can’t believe you! Don’t you trust me at all? I thought I was your friend. You said I was your friend. You sounded like you meant it but you lied. You totally lied, right to my face.”

 

It feels as if a bowling ball is stuck in her throat. “Stiles-”

 

“Friends don’t lie to each other. That’s not how this stuff works. Communication, communication, communication! How long have you been like this? How long have you been lying to me? Is it because you didn’t think I’d be able to take it because I’m cripple now-”

 

“I was bitten while we were running away from the rival pack,” Allison whispers.

 

Stiles stops shouting. “You...what?”

 

Slowly, nervously, she looks over at him. When she meets his eyes, he doesn’t even stare at what she is. He just stares at her. It gives her the courage to say what she’s been going over and over again in her head.

 

“I didn’t tell you at first because it really didn’t seem like the right time,” she says in a quiet voice. “We were running away and I didn’t want to freak you out any more than you already were. And then…” She looks back at her clawed hands fisted around the rail. “After that, I didn’t tell you because it was just nice not having you treat me any differently, the way everyone else was.” She takes a deep breath and looks back at him. “I meant to tell you but I just kept putting it off. I’m sorry.”

 

He stares at her for a long time but his heart beat is steady and soft now, not thundering and angry. It calms her to hear it and her claws retract and fade. Her canines return to being ordinary teeth. When he speaks at last, she looks human.

 

“So, it’s not because we’re not friends and you don’t trust me?”

 

She smiles with relief, laughing breathlessly. “No! Of course not.”

 

He nods slowly then asks sharply, as if it’s suddenly occurred to him to do so, “And you’re not going to brutally murder me at the top of this broken Ferris wheel?”

 

“No, I don’t think so.” She knows she starts crying then but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed. She’s just so relieved he’s not angry. She’s just so relieved he doesn’t hate her.

 

He stares at her tears, looking confused and worried.

 

She laughs. “I’m fine. I just…” She smiles at him. “I’m just so glad that you don’t hate me.”

 

Something mischievous flashes across his eyes. She hears as his heartbeat turn playful. “Not so quick, wolf girl. I didn’t say anything about-”

 

She leans into kiss him.

 

The Ferris wheel jolts to life.

 

She ends up oddly kissing his chest and his arm instinctively grabs hold of her. It’s the only thing that stops her from plunging to the earth and she can’t quite help the laugh that escapes her. Then that’s both laughing, with shock and relief.

 

He doesn’t hate her.

 

It feels a little like a miracle.

 

***

 

The next day makes the whole of the day before feel a lot like a dream, even though it’s raining.

 

Stiles makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his pyjamas and hops back towards the couch, a hand braced against the wall. A knock sounds at the door and he takes the sandwich out of his mouth long enough to shout upstairs, “Dad, someone’s at the door!”

 

He sits down on the couch and chews his sandwich, casually going over the events of the night before. Sometime before going to sleep last night, he saw sense and realized Allison was probably going in for a hug and not a kiss and he’s kind of relieved that he’d been too busy laughing to try kissing her on a false assumption.

 

His dad stumbles downstairs, his shirt unbuttoned.

 

“Shirt!” he calls to his dad.

 

Mumbling, his dad starts buttoning his shirt and opens the door.

 

There’s silence.

 

Worried out of his morning thoughts, Stiles calls, “Dad, are you alright?”

 

His dad appears at the lounge door. “Stiles, there are two dead teenagers on my front porch who shouldn’t be there.” He seems stunned but not really all that surprised.

 

Stiles is wide awake in a split second and abandons his sandwich for the coffee table to stand and hop his way from the couch to the front door. Standing on either side of Cora were Boyd and Erica.

 

He grins at them. “It worked.”

 

“Of course it did,” Deaton yawns from the stairs and when Stiles turns he tries not to notice that his best friend’s boss is shirtless and what that potentially means. “Cora’s a strong girl. I knew, she could pull it off.”

 

Cora smiles at Deaton.

 

Stiles’ dad looks like he’s about to say something then stops short. He sighs. “I’m going to make some coffee.” He heads off towards the kitchen and Deaton follows, pulling his shirt on as he goes.

 

“Have you told Lydia yet?” Stiles asks, bracing a hand on the door frame for balance.

 

“Just got off the phone with her.”

 

Stiles stares at her. “You just did it?”

 

Cora laughs. “No! I did it last night. We’ve been sleeping since then. Bringing people back from the dead and being brought back from the dead… It’s exhausting.”

 

“And how’s Derek taking the news?”

 

“He’s our next stop.”

 

“Aw, I trump your own flesh and blood. I’m touched. You’re making me emotional.”

 

Stiles becomes acutely aware all of the sudden that Boyd and Erica aren’t saying anything. “Um, are they okay? They’re sort of not talking.”

 

“You’re missing a leg,” Erica says.

 

“Half a leg,” Stiles clarifies.

 

“How did you lose half a leg?” Boyd ask, finding his voice. “You didn’t always have half a leg, did you?”

 

Stiles tilts his head to the side and smiles up at them. “If it wasn’t seven in the morning, I would be happy to answer your questions. But it is so I’m going to leave this to Cora to explain.” He looks back at Cora. “Good luck with the sour wolf.”

 

She gives a nervous smile.

 

Closing the door, he goes back thinking about the night before and eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

 

***

 

It’s still raining when Allison gets the news that Boyd and Erica are alive. She wants to drive across town, to see them with her own eyes, but it’s raining and ever since the crash she’s been too scared to drive in the rain.

 

She lasts about an hour before she can’t stand sitting there any longer. Pulling on a raincoat and grabbing an umbrella, she calls Cora to tell her she’s coming. With that done, she heads out into the rain.

 

She’s a few blocks away when she can’t make herself power through the rain anymore. She’s drenched despite her raincoat and her umbrella is in a sad looking state.

 

Spotting Stiles’ house up ahead, she makes a break for it.

 

The porch is a relief and, dark as the clouds are turning the world, the porch light visibly shines when she arrives. She knocks on the door.

 

A split second before Stiles opens the door, she realizes this is probably going to be awkward.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment.

 

“You’re soaking wet,” Stiles says, oddly breaking the ice.

 

“I walked here.”

 

His heart skips a beat. “Through the rain?”

 

“I was on my way to see Cora.”

 

“Oh.” She can hear his heart sink. “Well, come in. You can toss your clothes in the drier. It’s just passed the kitchen. I’ll see if I can find something for you to wear until they’re dry.” He turns and hops over to the stairs, grabs the crutches waiting for him there, and starts making his way up the stairs.

 

She crosses the threshold onto Stiles house and for the first time it feels like a big deal.

 

***

 

Nothing Stiles owns is remotely cool. He’s never realized before and it annoys him. Most people would have at least one, maybe two, vaguely cool items clothing but not him. He decides on the red hoody he was wearing the night before and some sweatpants. Neither of them are anywhere close to being cool but it’s not as if she’ll be wearing them for long.

 

He leaves the clothes on the kitchen table for her and goes into the longue to sit down.

 

He’s not at all prepared for how good it is to see her in his clothes when she joins him. She actually manages to make them look cool and, besides, they’re his clothes. It’s a lot to take in.

 

She smiles as she sits down next to him. “Careful, you’ll wear your heart out if you keep doing that.”

 

Stiles blushes from head to toe. “You heard that?”

 

“Hard not to.”

 

If the ground’s even a half decent piece of earth, it’ll open up and swallow him.

 

It doesn’t.

 

“So, uh, this heartbeat thing. How long has that been going on for?”

 

Her smile widens. “Why do you want to know?”

 

He rubs his chin and tries to look casual. With his heart hammering and skipping in his chest, he doubts he’s convincing. “Just, you know, curious.”

 

She leans sharply forward and he stops breathing. She doesn’t kiss him, just stops when their noses touch. She grins at him. “Oh, just curious?”

 

Stiles doesn’t have the breath to speak or the thoughts to breathe. He just stares at her, incredibly alert to exactly how close they are and that she’s wearing his clothes and that his dad and Deaton left hours ago. Her eyes flash with gold as he watches them.

 

She leans away from him and sits back on the couch.

 

Stiles can breathe again.

 

“Your heart is ridiculous.”

 

“Shut up,” he snaps on reflex. “Your heart is ridiculous.”

 

Allison sits forward sharply, sharply like she did before, and Stiles isn’t the slightest bit prepared when she actually kisses him this time. He makes a noise, a wholly unattractive noise, and then spends the next few seconds trying not to seem like an idiot as he tries to work out what to do with his hands and the rest of him. She’s patient with him, kissing him softly with smiling lips.

 

Just as he gets around to remember how to use his lips, she pulls hers away from his and smiles at him. “Your heart really does sound ridiculous.”

 

Stiles tells himself not to beg. “Shut up and kiss me.”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up and she says through a tight pressed smile, “Yes, ma’am.” She tackles him with so much force that they topple over the arm of the couch and sprawl on the floor. Their kissing is forgotten in their laughter filled check of whether the other is alright and then they’re kissing again, Stiles happily pinned beneath her.

 

She pulls away again.

 

“No,” Stiles whines.

 

She smiles at him and reaches down the neck of the hoody to pull out her cellphone. Cora’s face smiles out of the screen.

 

Groaning in frustration, Stiles closes his eyes and let’s his head fall back against the floor in defeat.

 

Allison answers the phone. “Cora? Hi! Yeah, I’ll be there soon. Oh, I don’t know. I have to wait for my clothes to dry.” She smiles down at him. “I had to make a little bit a pit stop.”

 

He opens one eye to judge her with.

 

“Oh, you know, just at Stiles’ house,” she teases pointedly.

 

He opens both eyes to glare at her.

 

Allison’s smile falters. “Here? Oh, okay. I guess. Yeah, see you in twenty minutes then.” She hangs up looking a bit stunned. “They’re coming over here, is that okay?”

 

“It is not okay. Call them back and say we’re busy.”

 

She cracks a smile then. “Stiles, honestly…”

 

“I’m dead serious.”

 

She leans down as if to kiss him, her lips teasing his, then stands abruptly. He glares up at her from the floor. “I don’t remember you being this cruel before you were a werewolf.”

 

She smiles down at him in a way that makes part of him incredibly regretful that he’s embarking on this relationship. But other ninety-nine point nine percent can’t help but being giddily happy.


End file.
